


Caffè Americano

by themirrordarkly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Barista Steve, Barista Steve Rogers, Beefy Bucky, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, POV Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Service Dogs, Skinny Steve, Smoking, Starbucks, Steve has a plan, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themirrordarkly/pseuds/themirrordarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To inspire and nurture the human spirit–one person, one cup and one neighborhood at a time." The Starbucks mission statement.</p><p>***<br/>For the past few days, barista Steve Rogers was having fantasies about a hot new customer that ordered a Caffè Americano each time. But didn't know how to approach him, because basically Steve had no game. That and Steve looked like he was still in high school. But that wasn't going to stop him, he had a plan. A dumb plan, but it was a plan.</p><p>Disabled war vet Bucky Barnes, fresh out of the VA, was just settling down into a routine. He and Sonya, his service dog, have come to an understanding, his therapy was going okay and he was trying to mix with public. He didn't understand why the cute barista was giving him side long glances. Maybe it was the missing arm, it put people off.</p><p>What happens when Steve sets his plan in motion surprises them both!<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Stucky Big Bang 2016!  
> I'll be linking the lovely art for this by ninjasherlock a bit later!  
> [ninjasherlock's charming traditional art work is here, go look](http://ninjasherlock.tumblr.com/post/149622948817/always-ready-for-a-coffee-shop-au-i-love-them)  
> Also like to give a big thanks to alba17 for their words of encouragement during writing this.  
> Not sure how to tag this all, so went a bit crazy on the tags!  
> The world needs one more Coffee Shop AU and I am here to deliver! Please enjoy!
> 
> Update:  
> There is now a podfic to this story did by the incredible Night_Inscriber! Please check out the end of this story for the link!  
> [Podfic] Caffè Americano by Night (Night_Inscriber)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4306/35708707820_db9fb1a074_o.jpg) Aesthetics: Caffè Americano

"Could this day get any worse?" Steve Rogers muttered under his breath. He was crouched down, watching the stray calico lapping up the bottled water he poured out in a dish. The cat had been hanging out in the alleyway behind the coffee shop all week. He couldn’t just ignore it. Maybe now it will have a better morning than he was.

First off, Steve was half blind. Not anything recent because it was normally corrected by contacts, but said contacts were accidently left sitting in the wrong solution last night, and they made him want to scratch his eyeballs out when he put them in. So he wasn't wearing them.

And oh yes, he broke his good glasses later on, after the contact incident, which was another story. All before 8 am. Because he had to be a hero. His brain was on default when he saw something he could fix and went for it. However, his body didn't always cooperate when he was trying to right an injustice.

It started with a tussle over a phone some guy was trying to lift from a woman. And ended with him on the sidewalk, a pop in the mouth, glasses broke and a rip in his good jeans. But he’d saved the phone (it clattered to the pavement with only the battery falling out) and got free water to clean up the cut on his lip and a business card, before she was off again texting madly. Maybe the whole thing would end up on Snapchat or YouTube later. It was just his luck.

He’d also gotten carded at the local food-mart this morning, for buying a Powerball ticket (the jackpot was close to 500 million dollars), because the new girl behind the checkout thought he was younger than 18 years old. He was 25 years old, thank you, very much. He should have been used to it by now looking like he was still in high school, even though he was a college grad working at a coffee shop. Maybe when he was 80 years old and look 40 years younger he would appreciate it but not now. The Fountain of Youth was highly overrated and he just wanted to be taken seriously, because he was a serious person. All his friends said so, telling him to crack a smile every once in awhile.

The cat looked up, dripping water down its chin, giving a curious, indifferent look, before going back to drinking. The cat like everyone else didn't care about Steve's terrible morning as long as Steve was present, be it giving it some water or being at his job.

“A banana is all I got, kitty,” Steve said while peeling the banana he was going to use for his strawberry banana Frappuccino for lunch and broke off a bit before setting it down by the dish. He really didn’t like cats, but the furry, little creature didn’t seem to understand that. It brushed against his hand like it wanted to be petted. Cats were supposed to be aloof, weren’t they? Steve tentatively scratched its ear and the cat’s eyes closed as if in quiet bliss. Well, okay then, that answered that question.

 

****

"Rogers, what happened to you?" Sam Wilson asked while prepping the Pike Place blend in the coffee maker for the first customers of the day. The scent of the fresh ground was full bodied and pungent.

"You don't want to know." Steve said, shaking his head, finishing up washing his hands.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"Product." Steve huffed out as he opened the refrigerator to take out the cream for the customers.

Of all the things wrong today, he didn't think it was his hair. Now he had one more thing to add to the list.

“Nice… the bed-head look is in.” Sam smiled a little too wide, and Steve knew Sam was messing with him.

“Shut up,” Steve said, slamming shut the refrigerator’s door before turning toward Sam. “Okay, maybe I put in a little too much.” He said that much just to get Sam off his case.

Steve turned back to look at his reflection in the shiny chrome of the refrigerator. _Oh god!_ His hair _was_ sticking up at an odd angle. He tried to slick it down with his hand, but it sprung up like a jack-in-the-box. Jesus, it was alive! It looked like he ironed half his hair to stand up like that.

“So that wasn't the look you were going for?” Sam was trying not to laugh, but he could hear him choking back a chuckle as he started to fill the cup dispensers.

“Of course it was,” Steve huffed out. “And I'm sticking to that story. I wanted some lift to it get it spiky on top.”

 Which was true, kind of, but he swore it looked better in the bathroom this morning. But that was before he was knocked down by that thief.

“Well, I say you have Sharon fix it for you before you get to the customers,” Sam said.

“It's not that bad.” Steve mulishly jutted his jaw out, crossing his arms against his thin chest.

Sam just glared at him, raising one eyebrow. Sam’s glare was intimidating for such a laid back guy.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Steve starting marching to the backroom. “I didn't have my contacts in when I did it. I'll ask her.”

Once in the backroom, he fumbled through his little plastic employee box for his name badge and spare glasses. The black rectangle frames were not his first choice. But he did give him kind of a hipster look even though he couldn't afford to live in DUMBO or Williamsburg. He was an employee at Starbucks. He lived in Red Hook. Ikea was his décor, only because the store took up the whole waterfront and was cheap and convenient.

Sure he wasn't in the hip crowd that sipped turmeric lattes or dirty chai with almond milk or whatever the latest thing was (he was a plain old vanilla latte person), but he did frequent the trendy galleries in those neighborhoods. But only because he liked the art and wanted to get a small showing. Any showing. But everyone was booked until the year 2030 or you had to know someone, or have money to grease a few palms. So currently he was out of luck and selling prints at various online sites for a small percent. And working to complete enough works to vendor in SoHo on the summer weekends. But it was better than nothing. At least his name was out there, in a tiny way, in the sea of so many artists; it was kind of depressing so he didn’t think about that part.

So until he could make a living through his art, he set his dream a little smaller. He was going to go through manager training and hopefully after that get his own store. He was going to be the very best damn ‘partner’ Starbucks has ever seen. He could see all the awarded ‘Green Apron Pins’ in his future.

He tied on his green apron, then pinned on his name badge. Steve had drawn little red and blue stars around his name, just because he liked them. And it matched the tattooed stars that ran down his right forearm to his wrist. It was his little rebellion, because he got the tattoo two years ago after Starbucks lifted their ‘no visible tattoos rule’. There was no way to cover that, unless he wore long sleeves, and he was wearing short sleeves because it was summer.

Wanda waltzed in the back all jangling bracelets and flowing hair humming a tune from her iPod, before noisily dumping all her bracelets and rings in her employee box. She took out a hairband and twisted her hair in an elaborate top knot in just ten seconds, all the while still bopping and humming to the music Steve couldn’t hear because it was playing through her earbuds. Spinning on her heels, she came to a dead stop, blinking owlish at Steve. Her kohl rimmed eyes comically wide as she gaped. Slowly, she pulled out her earbuds.

“What did you do to your hair, Steven?”

“Not you, too,” Steve said, groaning and thumped his head against a wall.

****

Steve was in the middle of making three tall Cotton Candy Frappuccinos for three giggly teenage girls when he glance up and his heart just stopped. The whip cream kept spitting out in a big glop on top of one of the Frappucinos as he watched a man and his dog walk into the shop.

 

Time stood still.

 

He was easily the most attractive man that Steve had ever seen and that was saying a lot, because he lived in Brooklyn with over two million people. This man was it, hands down. Steve’s mouth went dry, heart knocking in his chest like a popcorn in a popper. His brow broke out in a sweat, head all woozy like he was going to faint, mimicking some swooning damsel in an old movie. It was just the hot June weather getting to him that was all, not the scorching hot guy.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam called over.

And Steve looked over. “What?”

Sam gave him a pointed look down at the drink Steve was fixing. Steve turned his gaze downward. _Oh shit!_ Whip cream was overflowing all over the cup! His fingers getting wet and sticky.

“Ah, I hope you don’t mind the extra whip.” Steve said in an apologetic tone at one of the girls as he picked up a rag to wipe up the mess. “I could take it off.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” the girl said. Then the other girls chimed in wanting extra whip too.

After Steve finished the drinks, he took a drink of his own from the water bottle at his station. He was overheated and mentally checked out, because the next thing he was handed was a cup, his cup, the hot man’s cup. And he watched him walk to the end of the counter pulling his baseball cap down lower as he went by. Steve clutched the cup tightly and took a peek at the name. James. His name was James. Steve gazed upward blessing the Starbucks’ gods in its policy to write the names of the customers on cups. He wanted to dance for joy, but he couldn’t because he had to work on the drink order. He read the order: Caffè Americano, double shot.

****

The shop was airy with a high ceiling, wood floor and an elective assortment of chairs and high top tables. Near the back there were three cushioned chairs with a low table and a bookshelf. At the front was a flat screen TV with the volume turned off. The shop was well lit so Steve had an unobstructed view of all the customers.

Steve couldn’t stop sneaking glances in the direction of the extremely hot guy sitting at a back table paging through his phone. He had given him his drink, calling out his name: James. It just rolled off his tongue. The man nodded, glancing up, and Steve found himself staring at the man’s mesmerizing steel-blue eyes. His whole body felt the pull of them like a magnet. James took the drink without a word, then he and his dog, a gorgeous golden retriever, went to the very back of the shop to sit down. Steve’s body missed the tugging attraction instantly.

So Steve took to spying on him between drinks. His long, dark hair was caught up in a short, messy bun, baseball cap tipped low to obscure those hypnotic eyes, but it didn’t hide the strong jaw, sharp cheekbones and sinful lips that were gingerly sipping at the hot drink. His light blue, long sleeved Henley shirt didn’t hide the hard lines of a muscled body under it. The straining shirt pulled across a wide chest and a thick right biceps.

In about an hour, after the man finished his drink and was done with his phone, he stood up to leave. The dog scampered up from lying down at James’s feet, wagging his tail so hard it looked like he was going airborne. The man bent over to fondly scratch the dog’s head and neck, before picking up the leash. That was when Steve finally noticed the words printed on the retriever’s blue vest: Service Dog. Well, of course it was or Sam would have said something. He did take his order.

As James turned to leave, Steve’s world stopped for the second time in one day. He saw James’s left arm or rather the lack of one. His left sleeve was pinned up way past the elbow. Steve’s fantasy world spun to a stop as real life crashed in. James was a real life person, with a life, problems, quirks and joys. Not a figment of his overactive imagination. He was heartbreakingly real, and that just made him all the more attractive to Steve. Steve never had a chance, not without a plan.

Steve had no plan.

He was desperate.

“Thank you,” Steve called out as the man reached the door. James squinted at him, saying nothing as he opened the door for his dog. Steve wanted to die of mortification, sink into the floor and disappear, but he was not that lucky.

Steve watched James leave Starbucks and he still had no plan.

He hoped he would come back.

Steve had to have a plan by then.

After three days, Steve still had no plan.

After seven days, Steve finally had a plan. A dumb plan, but a plan. He was going for it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 coming up!


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was working the register today. He had asked to work it for the last couple of mornings in hopes that James would come in. Today it finally paid off as he and his dog walked in and stood in line behind two people. Steve almost forgot to breathe, his chest tighten like he was having an asthma attack. _Oh god, not now!_ He closed his eyes and willed himself to calm down. Luckily, his inhaler was in back in his employee box just in case. His chest eased up and he finally opened his eyes. James was looking at the display case full of pastries and baked goods, while the other two customers were looking at Steve as if he was from Mars.

Quickly, he gave a tight smile and took the other orders. And then James was standing in front of him. Steve was glad for the barrier between them because he wasn’t sure if he could handle being so close to this man right now. First off, today he was wearing a simple grey t-shirt, worn jeans, and a navy baseball cap tilted low to shade his eyes. But somehow it wasn’t fair, because that plain t-shirt stretched tight over his large chest, enough that Steve swore he could see the faint outline of his pecs. It didn’t help that Steve was so much shorter than the guy that his chest was at eye level. So all he saw was James’s chest expanding with each breath he took and it was very distracting and very sexy.

“Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?” Steve pasted on his best smile, but cursed his hoarse voice that came out lower with his panic and constricted throat.

The man glanced up and stared him straight in the eyes. They were a clear icy blue-grey, arrowing right through him, and Steve froze. The eyes seemed startled, then narrowed.

“Grande, double shot, Caffé Americano,” he said.

Steve was not prepared for his voice. It was surprisingly soft and low. He visualized the sound like raw silk wrapped in steel and that was this man’s voice.

“Name?” Steve automatically picked up a cup, while still staring at him.

“James,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

And why wasn’t this guy blinking? It was eerie, yet compelling. Steve scribbled ‘Jamie’ on the cup.

“Anything else today? Steve asked. “I saw you were looking at our selection of pastries.” And now, the guy knew he was watching him. _Oh great_.

James shook his head and pulled out his wallet, finally breaking eye contact. And Steve physically felt the snap as it broke, because his lungs exhaled a breath.

James took out a credit card, handing it to him.

“Would you like a receipt?” Steve asked.

“No.”

“If you sign up for our Star Rewards plan at our website you can get points for a free drink or item.” Steve said, babbling on autopilot.

“Umm…okay.”

And that was the end of the conversation as the man called James, walked over to the end of the counter to wait for his drink.

Sharon was in the line making James’s drink, first drawing the shots then topping off the rest of the drink with hot water from the machine. When done she slid him the cup, saying the drink’s name along with ‘Jamie’.

James glanced at the drink, brows knitted together before picking it up and going back to the same table he was last time. Before sitting down, he shrugged off a backpack he didn’t have before, unzipped it, and pulled out a paperback book, then stored the backpack under the table with his dog. The retriever scanned around curiously, watching his master get settled in, before easing near James’s chair, resting his jaw on his foot.

It all looked very domestic. And who read real books in coffee shops nowadays, apparently this man. Steve’s heart thawed like a melting ice cream bar as his brain added a cozy fireplace and Steve, himself, leaning next to the guy, sighing contently, as he watched the history channel while the other read. Steve shook his head to remove the idealistic vision so he could work on popping two bagels in the toaster for another customer.

****

"White Chocolate Cinnamon Chai Latte for James." Steve slid out the secret receipt drink without looking up. A light spicy scent wafted off the hot brew.

Sam had pulled him off the cash register just before James came in so he had to improvise, by being a little creative with his drink order.

"This isn't my order," James said, frowning.

"It's no...ttt?" Steve tried to appear surprised but might have failed. His schooled features were pinched as he tried not to stutter. He picked up the cup reading the abbreviation for Caffè Americano. "How did that happen? I'll make it again. You can have the other drink free, on the house, for the inconvenience."

"Sure...okay,” the other man nodded, before he squinted up at the menu board. “It’s not even up there.”

“Secret menu.” Steve gave a shrug and smile.

“There’s a secret menu?”

“Shhh…” Steve look around and lowered his voice conspiringly. “Well, not so secret. It’s all over the internet.”

The man, James, just gave a puzzled looked. Which soften the hardness of his handsome face, making him appear younger.

“Here’s your Caffè Americano.” Steve set the cup within James’s reach.

“Thanks,” James said before placing the cup to his lips. “Good.” His lips curl into a small smile. And Steve swore the room got a little brighter because of that smile. The golden retriever thumped her tail and spun in a tight circle before looking up at James. “Sonja says thanks too.”

Steve cleared his throat. “She’s beautiful.” _And I’ll make you coffee forever if you smile like that._

“She’s a doll.” James looked down at Sonja with quiet affection.

“You want a tray for both drinks?” Steve asked, pulling one out.

“Sure.” James nodded more to the dog than Steve.

Steve fitted both drinks in the tray and watched as James maneuvered his way in back to his regular seat.

Steve let out a deep breath. Success! He talked to him and didn’t feel faint this time and it was nice. No, more than nice. He felt the heat of blush on his cheeks and knew it was spreading down his neck. _Oh god._ He didn’t want to embarrass himself again. He busied his hands making another drink. So he didn’t notice when James looked back his way for a brief moment before carefully taking a sip of the extra latte.

****

Steve was a good week into his plan when Sam finally got wise to what he was doing. Well, maybe not exactly what he was doing.

Sam pulled him aside and gave him a long focused look that meant--‘Don’t you dare lie to me’. Steve wasn’t much of a liar, but he sometimes omitted details.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Flirting.” Steve said, while he picked a rag and started cleaning the counter. He couldn’t look at Sam directly when he was interrogating him.

“Badly.” Sam huffed out.

“Not if it works.”

“Says you—if this ‘James’ gives you anymore homicidal looks I’m calling the cops.”

“So is he looking over here?” Steve asked, ducking his head down more. He couldn’t hide the hopeful tone it his voice.

“Yeah and staring daggers. Steve, what did you do?”

“I may have put the wrong name on his cup.” Steve shrugged.

“Oh?” Sam crossed his arms and leaned back on the counter Steve was scrubbing.

“The last three times he was here.”

“Seriously?” Sam shook his head. “Why?”

“Flirting.”

“Back to that again. Why don’t you just ask him how his day is or what he is reading?”

“I can’t do that!” Steve sounded mortified, clutching the soggy cleaning rag in a tight fist. Or could he? Was it just that simple?

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m done here. I’m not your dating advisor.” He let out a deep sigh. “Didn’t you download Grindr in your phone?”

“Maybe I did, but I just can’t. I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself when I did that. I can’t just hook up with a total stranger.” Steve tossed the rag in the sink. Besides this didn’t feel like a hook up in his head when he thought about James. This was something different and scarier than a quickie.

“But you can enrage a vet with his murder gaze?” Sam walked away to the backroom and let his words sink in.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days passed before Steve grumpily admitted to himself that maybe Sam’s idea had merit. He just had to work up the nerve to do it. He waited for James to get his drink and settled in, removing his baseball cap and placing it on the table. Again he pulled out a book to read from his backpack. Steve told Sharon and Sam he was taking a ten minute break. Sam gave him a thumbs up sign, which had Steve rolling his eyes. Sharon just nodded and took over the cash register.

He approached James’s table and Sonja lifted her head, giving a soulful look, panting at him, her tail slowly sweeping the floor.

Steve cleared his throat. “What are you reading?”

James’s right hand had a plastic gadget slid on his thumb to help him turn the pages one handed. He deftly held the page he was reading with his ring finger and thumb and flipped the cover toward Steve, before looking up.

Steve wasn’t prepared to have the full force of James’s icy gaze directed at him once again. He felt naked standing there without the barrier of the counter. Several strands of James’s dark hair had worked loose and fell artlessly over the right side of his face. He was model handsome with light stubble, a strong jawline, and full but chapped lips like he licked them often. James scrutinized him in a wary fashion, eyes narrowing, then softening with fine crinkling lines in recognition. Steve almost gripped the table as the blood rushed out of his head. He wobbled, fingers tingling, stomach flipping. Those eyes told him this man use to smile and laugh in the past, but maybe not now.

“Oh, it’s you.” James nodded. “War of the Worlds.”

Steve finally ripped his stare off the man’s face and peeked at the cover.

“Oh, any good?” Steve asked weakly. And okay, that sounded even lame to his ears.

“Well, yeah. I like the classic science fiction. Good stuff.”

“Oh yeah…I think I remember reading that back in high school.”

“Really?”

“And some Ray Bradbury,” Steve added. He still was lightheaded, but the words were flowing naturally out of his mouth as some of the tension left his body.

“The Martian Chronicles?” James asked.

“Yes, yes.” Steve nodded and smiled, a nervous energy zipping through his body. It was making him giddy.

“And…”

“Fahrenheit 451!” They both said in unison.

James gave out a soft chuckle, shaking his head, mouth curling into a quick, blinding smile, then it was gone. It hit Steve with the force of a supernova and he did go faint, knees buckling, one of his hands gripping the table. Sonya gave a huffing, quiet bark, nosing Steve’s calf. His narrowing vision started clearing.

“Are you alright?” James’s voice was full of concern.

“Yeah, just a long day, the heat.” _He was such a bad liar._

“Tell me about it. Hey, do you want to sit down—need any water?”

Steve shook his head, but sat down anyway. “No, I’m good—but I’ll…” Sit here because apparently his body was a traitor.

“I’ll get some water.” James’s tone brooked no argument, and Steve wasn’t well enough to give him any more token protests so he simply nodded.

Steve felt so stupid and wanted to hit his head hard on the table or maybe just rest it there, the side of his face on the cool polished wood. He did the latter as he watched James stride over to the counter and to get water. He idly realized James had a sexy ass too; he really was a hopeless case. Sonya stayed with Steve as if she sensed who was in greater need of comfort.

“Oh, great. Stealing the guy’s service dog. What a way to go, Rogers,” he berated himself out loud.

She gently nuzzled Steve’s leg until his hand reached down under the table to stroke her long, golden fur. It was so soft and warm. She really was gorgeous and distracting, because when he looked up again a bottle of water was sitting on the table in front of his face. And James was silently standing next to the table. The stillness in him was unsettling as he didn’t even hear him approach, but his presence was more like a sentinel watching guard which was silly, but his brain was on meltdown so he went with it.

James sat down again, observing him carefully.

“Drink,” he said.

Steve lifted up his head slowly and cracked open the lid to the cool water. The slippery condensation chilling to his hand as he gripped the bottle and took a big gulp.

“Slowly.” James gave a stern look.

Steve drank a little slower so not to get brain freeze. He finished half the bottle before he spoke.

“I think my break’s almost over.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m stronger than I look. Got to make the coffee.” Steve gave a weak smile. He really didn’t want to go but, he needed the paycheck. “I’ll take it easy the rest of my shift. Promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” James shook his head.

“I don’t know? Don’t I look all innocent?” Steve gave a stronger smile feeling a little bolder.

“You look like trouble, Steve.” James’s lips quirked a bit into a small smirk.

“Ha, ha,” Steve said, before it dawned on him he said his name. “Hey, you know my name?”

James leaned over and tapped Steve’s name badge. “That’s how.”

“Oh, that is clever.”

“I thought so.” And James picked up the discarded book and started to pack up. “I’ll see you around, I got to be somewhere in an hour.”

“Yeah. And umm, thanks for the water.”

“No problem, pal.”

The next few hours seemed so dull after James left. Steve couldn’t stop thinking about him and their conversation. He was beginning to realize he had it bad for this guy.

****

Next day, James didn’t come in alone. Sure he always brought in Sonya, but this was something new. He entered with another man, both taking a place in line. This guy had a short, blond crew cut and wore a t-shirt stenciled with ‘Army Strong’ that showed off some impressively sculpted arms. He was having an animated conversation with James, his rugged, attractive face both smiled and frowned equally as he gestured with his hands. James was nodding as he listened, his face neutral.

Steve was working the register. The guy gave his name as Clint and he ordered a Venti Caramel Macchiato. James ordered his regular, but only briefly glanced at him as he was concentrating on Clint. A heaviness rested in his chest when James barely acknowledged him. He wrote down Clunk and Jacques on the cups and felt a little better.

They didn’t sit in James’s usually spot, but instead they lounged on the overstuffed chairs in back, near the book shelf. Steve tried not to notice the casual, wide sprawl that James’s legs did, but it was a lost cause. He was too sexy for his own good and he wasn’t even trying. Steve couldn’t rip his eyes away, even when heat spotted his cheeks. James gently stroked Sonya’s back as he listened to Clint. Every once in a while inserting a word or nodding. So Steve really wasn’t prepared when James’s wintry-blue eyes locked in on his. It jolted Steve to his toes. Then he calmly raised his drink to his lips, never losing eye contact, and took a long swallow.

“Steve!” Sam called out to him from the line, and he jumped a mile, loudly knocking over the jar of cookie straws by the register--heart thudding wildly in his chest.

“Jesus, Sam, I have a heart condition, you know,” Steve snapped back at Sam. But this was a different condition his heart was having now. And its name was James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter coming up! It's Steve's birthday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's Birthday!

It was July 4th, Steve’s birthday. And all the partners chipped in for a cake. Buttercream frosted, chocolate cake with tiny little American flags on toothpicks and Steve’s name in red, white and blue gel frosting on top. Everyone wanted to hug him today like he was a human squish toy. All the touching and human contact was getting draining, but they meant well. Sharon gave him a peck on the cheek, Sam slapped his back, and Wanda dropped a smooth worry stone in his hand, before curling both their hands around it. “For good karma” she had said, then gave him a kiss too.

James had come in earlier than usual that day in the midst of the impromptu celebration. He didn’t seem to notice with his earbuds playing loud music. His eyes kept darting around, shoulders sagging. His hair wasn’t tied back and fell loose in his face, his cap keeping it from totally obscuring his eyes. He ordered a triple shot and just nodded when his order came up. Not reacting at all to the name ‘Jack’ printed on his cup, just grabbing it and hastily walking back to his regular spot. Not pulling out a book or his phone. Just clutching the hot, strong drink like it was a lifeline, his right knee steadily bouncing up and down. Sonja was persistently thumping her tail against his legs, trying to get his attention, until he finally dropped his hand down, so she could lick it. He just looked tired. He didn’t stay more than a half an hour before he was gone.

Steve tried not to worry about James that day but failed. So much for the worry stone. Maybe Wanda could get her money back.

**** 

The next day, Steve woke to a pounding headache. His alarm was angry buzzing bees in his head. He didn’t even bother with his contacts today, not wanting to risk poking his eye out from his incoordination. The glasses will do. His mouth was dry cotton so he drank a liter of water. It didn’t help. He buttered and blueberry jammed some toast and took a bite; he was running late. The penny loafers were easy to slip on, he just had trouble buttoning up the white short-sleeve oxford. Christ! Why so many buttons? He didn’t get home until 2am and needed to be at work by 8am. He wasn’t going to make it. Damn his birthday! His co-workers dragged him to a bar last night and after beer pong, sparklers and bad karaoke, he was surprised he could remember his name or how he got home. Wait…how did he get home? Didn’t matter. He slung his messenger bag across his shoulder, slamming the door behind him and pounded down the three flights of stairs, only to stop to catch his breath at the bottom. Okay, note to self. Next birthday he will not do this. He just hoped he’d remember.

He arrived at work ten minutes late, which was better than he hoped. He went in back, tied on his green apron and chugged some Pepto Bismol he had in his employee box to ease his queasy stomach. Now he was ready to face the world and inspire some customers. He told his stomach to behave.

He was busy arranging the croissants and muffins in the display case when James came in. Steve was surprised to see him today for the very fact James didn’t look good yesterday. Even when Steve was out last night, he couldn’t get off his mind how jittery and shutdown James was the other morning.

“Good Morning,” Steve said in greeting.

“Same,” James said as he got to the counter. He was looking better today, but he was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes like he didn’t sleep much last night. But then Steve probably didn’t look much better. James’s hair was combed so it didn’t fall into his eyes, but it still was unbound. He stood straighter and Sonya was sitting calmly down at his feet while he ordered.

Steve noticed there were no other customers behind him before he spoke.

“Yesterday was my birthday,” Steve said, then lowered his voice glancing over his shoulder before looking back at James. “They are still razzing me about it—shhh. “ He put his finger to his lips. “I’m still hung over.”

“Drink tomato juice.” James’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but didn’t. He pulled out his card, then stopped before he handed it to Steve. “Wait—it was your birthday? Happy Birthday.” James finished handing him the card. “Hey, so it was on the 4th?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, 4th of July baby. Go ahead and laugh.”

“No, it’s cool,” he said, finally letting his lips give a small smile. “I kind of was out of it yesterday.”

“Eh…?”

James shrugged. “Not so good with fireworks. They say it takes time.”

“Oh.” Steve looked up from writing on the cup “Umm…what branch were you in?”

James’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Army—Special Forces.”

“Did I mention? I’m still hung over. So ignore me.”

“No, no.” James shook his head and started to walk to the end of the counter, then quickly doubled back, hitting Steve with a direct stare. “I know a place that sells the best cupcakes in Brooklyn. When’s your break?”

“Whhaat?” Steve stammered. He did not just hear that. His brain wasn’t working right; it still was soaked in alcohol and deep fried. “No, you don’t have to.”

“Steve, I have to. It’s my patriotic duty.” He put his hand over his heart.

“Well, if you put it that way.” Steve couldn’t say no.

****

 Steve couldn’t not notice James’s vigilance as they walked down the busy Williamsburg’s sidewalk toward their destination. His gaze, laser focused, scanning the people and the surrounding buildings and vehicles. Sonja was slightly in the lead, weaving between the pedestrians, taking point, navigating a path for him. The tense, self-assured aura James alluded, even as he threw a tight smile Steve’s way, wasn’t casual, but false bravado. And Steve didn’t call him on it or even want too, because it wasn’t his place to question someone’s coping mechanisms. The man was springing for free bakery and in the big picture of things, that small gesture was telling and really Steve didn’t deserve to breathe the same air of this man. How could he even think he had a chance with him? But then Steve never was a quitter and he was going to see where all this lead to.

****

Honestly, the cupcake looked too good to eat. Red Velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, all with fancy swirls and petals. To his artist eye it was a work of art and he felt guilty eating it.

“You’ve been staring at it for a good minute. Did you want something else?”

“No...it’s just too good looking to eat.” Steve gave a lopsided smile.

“No, it’s not.” James gestured with his chin. “Go ahead.”

Steve tentatively bit into the cupcake. Wow…the frosting just melted in his mouth. He just nodded enthusiastically and took a bigger bite.

The little bakery with a red door and the cute name of “Bake Me” was out of the way, but had a steady stream of customers. The outdoor patio (where they sat) with a white metal round table and white chairs was quaint, and the vase with the fake marigolds, tacky, but not without charm. The smells of the baked goods were so mouthwatering, Steve was practically drooling before he even ordered.

“I like this place. I don’t get any hassle about Sonya.” James said, taking a bite of his own cupcake. Sonya was stretched out under the table, with just her nose visible.

“Mrhm…huh?” Steve was in the middle of chewing and swallowing. “But she is a service dog…”

“Yeah.” James just gave a shrug like it was a normal thing.

“That’s…that’s not right. There are advocate groups fighting this very thing. I’ll report them, just tell me the names.” Steve’s jaw clenched, body tensing.

James just shook his head. “I don’t need you fighting any battles for me.”

“Someone has to.”

James went unnaturally still and just stared at him, face blank. And Steve’s brain finally caught up with his mouth. _Oh god!_ He had the worst case of foot in mouth disease! It was terminal. He opened his mouth to say—What? I’m sorry, but not sorry?

James slowly pushed Steve’s plate closer to him.

“Eat your cupcake, Steve.”

And Steve shoved the rest in his mouth so he wouldn’t make a bigger fool of himself than he already had.

****

Steve pushed away the plate, signaling he was done, taking a sip of some iced water. The cool liquid doubly nice on the sunny, hot day, even in the shade. And sitting with one of the hottest guys on the planet, it was that or maybe a bucket of ice thrown over his head to cool him down. Steve was somewhat over what he’d said early, but it wasn’t forgotten.

“Between that and the cake at work I think I’m going to be in a sugar coma for a few days.” Steve groaned and stuck out his tongue.

“Hope not. I might not…umm.” James ducked his head sheepishly, before adjusting his baseball cap. “I like your ink.” He waved his hand toward Steve’s right arm.

Steve stupidly looked down at his arm. Oh…yeah. His tattoo. “Umm…thanks.” And broke out in a smile, sitting up straighter, chest warming with pride. “That means a lot. I designed it myself. Been thinking about doing another one. I’ve been doing some sketches.”

“It’s gonna be that complex?” James’s tone was curious as he raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll show you.” Steve excitably nodded pulling up his messager bag to the table, undoing the latch.

“You got it here?”

“Yeah, I’m freelance--well--freelance, freelance, independent artist, looking for a showing.” Steve’s hand was rummaging inside the bag, avoiding eye contact, because now he was both happy and petrified about James’s reaction to wanting to see his sketch. His stomach was flipping, which wasn’t so good on a full stomach and recovering hangover. “I got a card in here somewhere. I printed a few up.” He finally pulled one out, giving a tight smile before handing it to James.

James nimbly flipped it around the fingers of in his right hand, before slipping it into his back pocket.

“Can I have a couple more? I can hand them out at the VA.”

“Umm…sure.” And Steve dug out a few more. “That’s all I have on me. I got more at home.”

“It’s enough.” James nodded and pocketed the other cards. “So the sketch?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Steve’s head was bouncing like a bobble head.

He pulled out his blue sketch book, not the red one that he had been doing drawings of a certain hot guy that happened to be sitting right across from him. If James saw those sketches, Steve knew for sure that the sky would open up and lightning would fry him dead. So, no, he wasn’t going to make that mistake. He slid the blue one toward James and watched him open it up. He flipped through the book, not commenting, just scanning with those piercing eyes of his. Taking it all in without a word. When Bucky gets to the page, Steve placed a finger on the page before clearing his throat.

“That’s the one.”

“For the tattoo?” James looked up at Steve, just raising his eyes to meet his.

“Yeah.” Steve’s heart started tripping more rapidly as he licked at his lips. His nerves were shot.

James let out a low whistle. “Wow,” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Seriously, do you know how good this is?”

“It’s just a doodle.” Steve had the irrational urge to snatch back the book, but instead pressed his hands flat on the table.

“A doodle?” His eyes widen in disbelief.    

“Umm…yeah. I normally work with canvas and paint so that is a sketch, a draft.”

“You’re serious.”

Steve just nodded because, he didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you have a tattoo artist lined up? You’ll need some major talent to do this right.”

“Err, no, well--maybe…”

“I know someone. He’s got a waiting list, but he owes me a favor. Name’s Luis at ‘Titanic Tattoos’.”

“You don’t have to”

“Steve, think of this as your birthday present.”

“I thought the cupcake was.”

“That too.”

“Okay, sure, let me get my phone.”

****

Now he owed James a favor, kind of. Okay, it was a gift. Steve’s life was getting more intertwined with this man, and he didn’t even know him that well, but Steve didn’t really care. He knew him well enough. He knew his name was James Barnes, because it was on his credit card. He came in regularly in the morning at Starbucks. He was a vet and liked strong espresso. He had a beautiful dog. He like classic science fiction and had the most mesmerizing eyes and rocking body. Yep...that was enough.

On impulse, Steve took the stray calico back to his apartment after his shift that day. Now he had to buy cat food. But in the meantime, the warm, fuzzy lump was resting on his chest, kneading needle claws into his shirt as he sat back in his small sagging two-seated sofa. Steve closed his eyes, running his hand through its fur, thinking about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cook-out Time! Next Chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to note that this chapter is going to be sad in some parts just to warn. Also there is discussion of graphic violence, but brief. I edited some of it down (the original version was more graphic) so not to lose the tone of the story. But I'd like to warn you. Thanks!
> 
> p.s. The formatting got a little weird in this chapter but going to fix it. ^^;;

The invite to Clint’s cookout went something like this—

 

“So I’m having a little get together for some vets and friends.” Clint said, while pulling out some crumpled singles for his drink.

 

“I don’t know you.” Steve took the ones, smoothing them out, then placed them in the cash drawer. His fingers automatically started picking out the coins for change.

 

“And that was my oversight. You know the Sarge?”

 

“Sarge?” Steve asked, handing him the change.

 

“Uh, Barnes.” Clint thumbed back at James who had his nose buried in his latest book—‘Ender’s Game’.

 

“Yeah?” Steve eyed him suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Well, any friend his is a friend of mine.” Clint gave a big toothy smile. “So you’re invited.”

 

“Wait…whhat?”

 

“7 pm. Tomorrow. Here’s the address.” He wrote it on his receipt and handed it back to Steve.

 

And left Steve standing there with his mouth gaping

 

Steve wasn’t sure how he got himself into this mess, but he couldn’t go alone.

 

****

 

“Sam, please.” Steve wasn’t use to begging, in fact he was lousy at it because of the lack of practice, but he was trying. He just couldn’t go to that party stag. They were both in back getting the cleaning supplies to start mopping up the floors before closing.

 

“What? So I’m your Wingman, now?” Sam raised up a single eyebrow, giving him the look he patented for irate customers.

 

“Well…” Steve was looking down his shoes like they were somehow very interesting, though they were boring black scuffed loafers.

 

“Sure—I’m in.” Sam grabbed the mop.

 

“Huh? Just like that?” Steve started to fill the rolling pail with water, sloshing it on his shoes.

 

“Yeah, just like that. I want a front row seat to watch you go down in flames.” Sam gave a slow smile, all for his amusement.

 

“That sounds sooo encouraging. You make a lousy Wingman.” Steve scowled.

 

“Just kidding, man. I’ve got your back.” Sam passed the mop to Steve. “Now go clean the floor out front.”

 

Steve’s nerves settled until he thought—“Oh god! What do I wear?” His eyes rounding in dawning horror. It didn’t matter before because they only saw each other when he was dressed for work. But this was casual or whatever. What does one wear to a barbeque...cookout? He’s never been to one, because well he lived in the city and it was bars and restaurants for meeting people.

 

“Ask Sharon,” Sam said from behind him. Did he say that out loud? He must have.

 

“Is that your answer for everything?” Steve slopped the mop in the bucket with the water and cleaning mix, then looked back at Sam.

 

“Pretty much. She’s got good taste.”

 

“That’s because you are interested in her.”

 

“No, seriously ask her.”

 

****

 

Not only did Sharon come to his tiny Red Hook brownstone apartment, Wanda came too. Wanda sat on his sofa with his no name cat on her lap petting it while Sharon pulled out all the clothes from his closet and threw them on his bed. He nearly had a heart attack then and there—heart squeezing in chest, breath shallow. No, not a heart attack, but a panic attack. His OCD personality flaring up because everything needed to be in its place and now his clothes were in a huge heap on his sun-faded comforter.

 

“Sharon, was that really necessary?” Steve collapsed down on a wooden chair he kept near the bed.

 

“Shh…I’m thinking.” She pulled out his black skinny jeans, a soft white t-shirt that was too long for him without tucking it in, and a long sleeved blue-plaid shirt.

 

“So.” Steve waved to the mess. “That’s it?” All that for just a t-shirt and jeans? He could have dressed blindfolded and still gotten the same results.

 

“No, that’s not all it.” She turned toward him holding the articles of clothing. “Now, it’s all how you put this together.”

 

“It’s just a two shirts and jeans?”

 

“Ah…silly man,” Wanda’s accented voice drifted into the bedroom. “You know nothing, but we will teach you.”

 

Steve knew he was stepping into quicksand, but it was too late.

 

“Go in the bathroom and put them on,” Sharon said, dumping the clothes in his lap.

 

When Steve came out all Sharon said was—“No.” Shaking her head as she asked him to take off the blue-plaid shirt, holding out her hand for it. “Now untuck your shirt.” He did as instructed and it fell almost to his knees. She leaned over and tied the other shirt around his waist and stepped back. “Better.” She nodded, resting her hands on her hips.

 

Wanda was on her hands and knees searching through his closet, his turncoat cat was rubbing against her bare calves. “Don’t you own simple white sneakers?”

 

“Err...no.”

 

“Hopeless.” Wanda let out a sigh.

 

“Hey.” He stuck out his bottom lip. He was actually pouting.

 

They finally decide on his brown loafers.

 

“No socks, please.” Sharon gave him a pointed look when he was picking up some blue socks with tiny fishes and crabs on them.

 

“Why?”

 

“Trust,” Wanda chimed in sagely.

 

Finally, he was sitting down in the wooden chair. He had a thick leather bracelet on his right wrist, watch on the other. His Saint Jude metal was resting against his white shirt. He normally wore it under his shirt and idly he touched it. It was private, personal, something he owned for years. Now exposed. A wash of sadness came over him as he closed his hand around it. A gift from his Mom, and now she was gone. He didn’t know why now it was bothering him--the memories. Taking a deep breath, he let out the grief and smiled a little to himself. Things will be alright.

 

Somewhere they found a beanie he forgotten he owned and were presently, not too gently, pulling it on his head.

 

“Ouch! Hey, you’re messing my hair.” His voice came out like a whine.

 

Wanda was pulling his bangs out and arranging them. “Do not take off.”

 

Sharon was standing behind Wanda, handing her what looked like mascara and eyeliner.

 

“What—no!” He held up his hands.

 

“Just a little, will make eyes bluer.” Wanda smiled as she uncapped the mascara.

 

“I’m wearing glasses.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Sharon said.

 

Steve relented and Wanda carefully brushed it on. And then lightly lined his eyes with kohl.

 

She held up a mirror so he could see what she did.

 

“This isn’t me.” Steve frowned, shaking his head. He appeared to be a cross between a wannabe rock star and a starving artist. Granted he was an artist, but he wasn’t starving…much.

 

“Yes, it is—if you want it,” Sharon said, as she started hanging back up his clothes.

 

Steve sighed and nodded. He wanted James to notice him, not that he hasn’t already. Whatever. He was going all in. Go big or go home! He was doing it!

 

That was when he noticed Wanda had drawn out a small jar of Vaseline from her vast tote bag of a purse.

 

“What the hell?” Because now he is done. What even!? His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Where was this ‘going big’ now? It was crawling under the bed, shaking.

 

“For the lips, Steven.” She said, pursing her own.

 

And Steve was seriously going to cry, but he didn’t want to run his mascara.

 

****

 

He and Sam arrived at the apartment building in Bed-Stuy, a few blocks off the Nostrand Ave. subway line, around 7:30pm.The building looked a mix of old and new, all brick, and the windows restored. They appeared to be studio apartments with private terraces. Each terrace with flowers and an outdoor grill. It looked homey to Steve. They were buzzed in and made it to the seventh floor. Thank god, there was an elevator or he would have passed out on the 4th floor stairwell.

 

The party was on the roof common deck, and Clint and another guy was grilling up a storm with burgers and hotdogs filling everyone’s plates. There was a good 30 people milling around with cans of beer and wine coolers, either sitting in lounge chairs or standing. The music was loud and booming, classic rock and country--this was no techno dance club music or frothy pop. Steve didn’t see James right away so made his way up to Clint.

 

“Hey!” Clint shouted above the music. “Glad you’re here. Pick your poison.” He pointed with his spatula at the coolers. “There’s sparkling water in one of them if you’re driving.”

 

Sam reached out to shake Clint’s hand. “Hey, I’m with this guy, but I came for the food. Give me a Brooklyn dog--charred.”  


“Coming on up!” He turned to the guy next to him. “Rhodes, one burnt dog.”

 

Steve asked for a burger.

 

****

Wandering around, Steve made small talk while he enjoyed the sloppy burger. It was sloppy because he decide to overload it with mustard and relish. Most were Vets or loved ones of Vets, but he kept searching for James. Sam roamed off when he heard there was a pool game downstairs. Not wanting to pass up showing off his billiard skills, Sam joined in the game. Steve quenched his thirst with a cold beer and was getting into a conversation with one of Clint’s neighbors when he spotted James. He sucked back, a big swallow cause—wow! Seeing James like this in different surroundings, it just brought home how incredibly scorching hot he was. Or maybe he was just bias. From this angle he could see a tattoo curving around his upper arm and biceps. Steve wasn’t sure how he made a simple navy t-shirt and faded jeans look so good. He was standing off to the side, away from the crushing people, smoking. Every once in a while flicking the cherry ash of the tip of his cigarette. He followed what James was looking at and found two dogs, Sonya and a yellow Lab, playing tug-a-war with a bone chew toy.

 

Steve excused himself and made his way to where James was standing.

 

“Hey!” Steve gave a big smile, toasting him with his beer.

 

“Hey, yourself.” James nodded. “She’s off duty so she is having a little fun. The other one’s Lucky. He belongs to Clint.”

 

“Nice. I just brought home a cat, but it doesn't have a name yet. Not very smart with my allergies, but, you know.” Steve shrugged.

 

“Allergies?” James gave him a sharp look, then peered down at his cigarette.” You don’t happen to be bothered by smoke?”

 

“Umm…sometimes.” Steve didn’t want to put James on the spot, but he couldn’t lie either.

 

“Say no more.” James flicked the half smoked cigarette to the ground and grinded it with his heel. “Now, maybe you want another beer. I’m buying.”

 

“The beer is free, James.”

 

“Well, then I’ll get you two.”

 

“Steve rolled his eyes and it had James shaking his head giving a small smile.

 

They watched the dogs play and then settle down, all the while drinking and snacking. Someone brought fresh fruit and Steve was gobbling up the pineapple. James was chewing on pretzels. They talked about his sketches. James asked if he contacted Luis yet. Steve hadn’t yet. The conversation winded around to books and Steve found out James was taking some classes at LIU. Which explained why he frequented the Starbucks’ Steve worked at, because it was near the University. Sonya came up to James, after she was done playing and looked at him expectedly.

 

“I’m going to take the dogs down to Clint’s apartment. I think they had enough fun for tonight.” James bent down, ruffling the fur of Sonya and kissing the top of her head. He was rewarded with a lick to the face.

 

“Hey,” James said soft and teasing, and she gave another lick. “Okay, okay.” He stood up. “Can you tell Clint I’m taking the dogs back?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Meet me at the elevator. Clint’s got a terrace. We can sit there. Less crowded and less smoke from the cook-out.”

 

Steve’s body was relaxed from the alcohol, so he nodded and gave a dreamy smile, because being alone with James right now sounded like a great plan.

 

****

 

The studio apartment was much larger than the shoebox he lived in. A huge sectional sofa, full kitchen and big screen TV. The sleeping area was portioned off with a standing screen. The dogs settled into their sleeping mats, looking all tuckered out. Steve pulled off his hat and tossed it on the sofa. He was feeling too warm for it; he’d apologize to Wanda later.

 

James slid open the screen and there was plenty room to sit. They sat down, side by side, on the terrace deck with a bowl of chips and a couple cans of beer Steve helped bring down from the party. The music drifted down and the night was peaceful. The lone sirens, here and there, and the subway noises were muffed and seemed so far away.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve leaned on James’s good shoulder, the alcohol making his brain all warm and fuzzy. He was such a light weight. A couple beers and he was tipping over. “You don’t have to answer.”

 

“Sounds ominous.” James gave out a low chuckle.

 

“Maybe—what...what happened to your arm?” And that was question Steve might have never asked if he was sober enough. But the air between them was mellow, the sky full of stars, even a sliver of a crescent moon was making a showing. Sure it was humid and warm, but a breeze blew over the terrace, cooling his hot skin.

 

James sucked in a breath, then slowly out. “I.E.D.”

 

“Afghanistan?”

 

“Umm…yeah,” He shifted to look at him, his breath close enough to stir Steve’s hair. “Hey, that’s two questions.”

 

Steve’s long fingers curled around James’s right biceps. His short sleeves were pushed up, fully exposing his tattoo, the Army Special Forces motto in bold black ink—‘de oppresso liber’. It wasn’t a traditional army tattoo, but something more personal. Ivy and a wreath of thorns circled around the words, not a more customary ribbon. A single black rose, like an air-brushed bruise twisted to rest by his triceps, the thorns dripping a black ichor. No skulls or knives yet the whole piece was dark and foreboding, beautiful yet deathly. The words were like bullet points drilled in his brain. The Latin meaning—‘from being an oppressed man, to being a free one.’

 

The muscle tensed to rock hardness under his touch, his hand not quite spanning the thickness of his upper arm, but then little by little he felt the tension ebb. Maybe he was grounding him, like Sonya did. He wasn’t sure, he only knew that James became more relaxed with each breath.

 

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Now you sound like my therapist.” James threw back his head to gaze up at the dark sky, letting out a harsh, sharp bark of laugher. But he didn’t tense up. And Steve was hoping he wasn’t pushing James in a place he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to risk the fragile, peaceful moment between them.

 

“I do not.” Steve lightly punched his arm. And idly wondered how many one armed pushups it took to keep it that hard, hell his whole body!

 

“Okay, you don’t.” He laughed and shook his head, but he was smiling. A small smile that was genuine and warm. “You’re not a scary red-head that can look deep into your soul and peel you like an onion.”

 

“Sounds wonderful.” Steve wrinkled his nose.

 

“She will shred you, nah…it’s good. Just draining after a session. Feels like running ten miles with a 200 pound rucksack in the desert.”

 

“Yuck! I’m melting into a puddle just thinking about it.”

 

“So what do you want to know?” James turned his head toward him, he couldn’t read his expression clearly in the dark, but he wasn’t smiling anymore.

 

“Are you serious?” Steve blinked at him. It was settling in his hazy brain what James just said.

 

James just nodded.

 

“Anything you can give me.”

 

“Fair…” He let out a deep breath, his right fingers twitching. “Shit, I could use a cigarette right now.” He bumped his elbow light into Steve’s side. “But I won’t for you.”

 

“How about a swig of my beer?” Steve found his forgotten can of beer and handed it to James. “Liquid courage?”

 

“Don’t need it.” But he took it anyway and took a sip of the now flat beer.

 

“It was in a small village in the Helmand province,” James said, setting the beer can down. “Our guys were there to advise and assist only. Just a regular day. But there are no regular, boring days over there. You start thinking that you end up dead. So yeah, it was a boring day. And this was the end game.” James gestured to his left side, the missing arm, giving a shrug.

 

“We were driving though, I.E.D. was under the road dirt, rode over it and boom. Then the bullets came so that took care of the wounded, all but me, because I got trapped under the fucking ATV. The arm was a mess, barely attached, you know. It couldn’t be saved. Shot at the insurgents, pinning us down. Finally got quiet then dragged myself from under the wreck. Then saw Barton. Yeah, he was there. Head wound. He’s part deaf now. He was moaning so I knew he was alive.”

 

James took a breath, biting at his lower lip. A shudder going through his whole body, before going on. His voice was soft, yet became more monotone as he went on as if distancing himself from the events in his mind. Steve didn’t even realize he was rubbing James’s back in small circles until he felt the tremor coursing through him.

 

“I dragged my sorry ass to him, did some crappy first aid and somehow got us both out of there." James lifted his hand, gesturing to his head. “Don’t remember much after that. It’s still all fuzzy up here. Cause then I’m in a hospital and laying on the bed stand is a Purple Heart and Bronze Star, and I don’t even know if Barton or anyone is left. Apparently, I went back to get another guy out, Quill. And that I don’t remember at all. They said I was some damn hero—but I was just surviving, you know. Just surviving.”

 

James took another sip of the beer before giving a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Man, wow…you’re better than Dr. Romanoff. It took her months to get that out of me. Didn’t mean to dump that all on you.”

 

“I asked.”

 

Steve rested his head on his shoulder, taking the beer can out of his hand, placing his other hand in his, lacing their fingers together. James gazed down at both their hands, giving a little squeeze, smiling. Steve just wanted to absorb all the pain and terror this man felt in the past and let it sink into his bones, settle there and channel it all away like floating smoke. His eyes were getting watery, allergies. It was allergies. The smoke from the party. It was because he was sad, but he wasn’t sad. Okay maybe a little. He wasn’t going to cry, because he wasn’t the crying type. With all his childhood illness he survived he had nothing to cry about. But his heart was cracking open, a warm flame invited in. He was falling, falling so hard for this man that it was scary, but yet not. He was crazy not to be scared. _Oh god? Was this what being in love felt like?_

 

Steve unexpectedly found his mouth was moving and long buried words spilled out. “My dad died in the Gulf War before I was born. His barracks was hit when he was asleep. No one remembers anymore. It was a tiny, little war but…” Steve couldn’t go on. His throat thick, his breath hitching. He wasn’t gonna cry.

 

“War is war, Steve. It doesn’t matter how big or how small. It’s all the same. I get it.” He rested his lips in his hair, breathing the last words against his scalp. The tears started to fall and they just wouldn’t stop. He soaked James’s shirt with salty water and mascara, and he didn’t even care.

 

Steve curled up to James’s side, burrowing his face into his shirt, smelling tobacco, clean sweat and a hint of spicy aftershave. The scent was a calming balm, warm and comforting. The tears started to dry up and the trembling stop. James curled his arm across Steve's shoulder, pulling him closer. And he swore he heard James let out a deep sigh. Steve’s arm circled around James’s waist, feeling the solidness there, and he let a lazy fog drift over him as he fell asleep under the moon and stars and the distance music and chatter of the party above.

 

He dreamed that James kissed him, brushed his hair away from his eyes and rested his lips to his. Quiet so quiet, before he laid him down and tucked a blanket around him. It was a nice dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	6. Chapter 6

Steve woke up to a tongue bath. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, his mouth tasting like road kill, he looked around. Where the hell was he? The couch was soft and a light blanket covered him, because the AC was up full blast. There was a large, furry dog licking his face.

 

“Hey, Sonya, down,” James said. And she was off him and by James’s bare feet, gazing up at him with adoring eyes as if the sun and moon set on him. Steve understood the feeling.

 

He appeared freshly showered, hair drying and curling a little at the ends. In grey sweatpants and a tight white undershirt, angels should look this good and edible in the morning.

 

“If you want to use the bathroom?” James smiled.

 

Steve bolted off the couch and into the bathroom, before he jumped him.

****

“Oh—my—god! I look like a raccoon!” Steve was in the bathroom, trying to smooth down his hair, when he looked up in the mirror. Staring at him was some zombie fresh from the apocalypse.

 

“A cute raccoon,” James said, his voice drifting into the room.

 

“Did you just call me cute?” Steve’s hackles always got up with someone called him cute. His neighbor, Mrs. Goldberg called him cute. He wasn’t cute. When he was 5 years old he was cute.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“My rep is ruined by my overzealous friends.” Steve let out a heavy sigh. “Hey?” He turned toward James who was standing near the bathroom entrance, leaning on the door jab.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Did you kiss me last night?” He didn’t know how to say it so he blurted it out. The dream seemed so real, but then he could have imagined it. By the startled look in James’s eyes, he wasn’t expecting him to say that. And that it was true. _Christ!_

 

“Didn’t think you’d remember.” James ducked his head, looking at his own bare feet. Was he blushing? Maybe?

 

“I do, umm…do you want to again? Cause I’ll remember it better this time,” Steve said softly, kind of embarrassed himself, now that the words left his lips.

 

“Sure.” James slid up to him and kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the bathroom.

 

“That’s not what I remember!” Steve called out to James in a huff. Steve scrubbed his face clean and brushed his teeth with his finger.

 

When Steve came out of the bathroom he was greeted by James in the kitchen, mashing up a mixture in a plastic bowl.

 

“Pancakes?” He didn’t move his head, just glancing his eyes up at Steve.

 

“Eh?”

 

“I’m making pancakes. Want any?”

 

“Umm…sure.”

 

“Clint’s still sawing wood.”

 

Steve glanced to the other side of the apartment were the bed was hidden by the partition.

 

“Do we have to be quiet?” Steve lowered his voice.

 

“Nah. He could sleep through an air-raid siren and that was before the blast. He’ll wake up when he smells bacon.”

 

“You’re making bacon too?

 

“No.”

 

****

 

Steve was sitting at a small round wooden dining table that had four chairs.

 

James slid three pancakes on his plate. There was a fresh orange juice smoothie in a glass near the plate. James was right. Clint didn’t even stir when he was using the blender.

 

Steve breathed in deep the aromatic smells of the pancakes and smoothie. He smelled bananas. He poked at the pancakes with his fork. “What are these?”

 

“Banana pancakes with almond butter.” He said shoving a fork full in his mouth.

 

“Banana Pancakes? With almond butter? You fucking hipster…” Steve shook his head, laughing.

 

“Says the guy with the raccoon eyes.”

 

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

 

“Try them.”

 

Steve cut off a small piece with his fork and took a bite.

 

“Oh. Oh…” He took another bite.

 

“Like?”

 

“Love!” The pancakes were a near orgasmic experience, but he wasn’t going to tell James that.

 

“So…” James leaned back in his chair, directing his laser focus at Steve. It still was unnerving being on the receiving end of that stare. “With all the questions last night, I have one of my own.”

 

“Oh?” Steve sipped at the smoothie, trying to look innocent but failing. Last night was wonderful, expect for the part where Steve cried all over this man’s shirt. He was going to forget that part.

 

“Why do you keep fucking up my name?” James’s smile was pleasant, but it didn’t fool Steve. He sensed a trap.

 

“Huh?”

 

“At the coffee shop you get it wrong almost every time.”

 

“I plead the fifth.” He was busted! _Dammit!_

 

“I knew it.” James smiled wide and Steve’s stomach flipped just like the first time he smiled.

 

“Can I die from embarrassment now?” Steve wanted to sink into the floor. A blush was creeping up his neck.

 

“Not until you finish your pancakes.”

 

“Thanks—that’s considerate.” And stuffed more in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak. Maybe he can call Sam to pick him up. But then he would have to tell him how much he failed as a Wingman.

 

“It’s Bucky, by the way.”

 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” It came out garbled with the pancake crammed in his mouth.

 

“Me, I’m Bucky. Well, my friends call me Bucky.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

 

“So I’m a friend?” Did he just get put into the friend-zone? _Nooo…!_

 

“Yeah and more I hope. I like you.” He started fiddling with his fork, a nervous gesture. He kept turning it around and around. “I mean more than like you. I want to see you.”

 

“You are seeing me.” Someone should have warned Steve that there was something worse than no. It was yes. His heart was going to burst out of his chest, his eyes rounded in shock.

 

“Go out with me.” And the look on James’s—Bucky’s face, he had to get use to that name, was sincere, his stare softening and not as scary.

 

“You are serious…” Steve voice dropped, drawing out the words. And now Steve was melting into that gaze.

 

“Yeah, I want to do things with you.” James gave a small smirk. It was mischievous and a little wicked. Steve decided it was a good look on him.

 

“What type of things?”

 

“Well, like this...” He stood up and came around to Steve’s side of the table.

 

He leaned over, closing the space between them while Steve arched up toward him. They met with a kiss; it was slow, sweet and a bit sinfully as Bucky gave a playful nip at his lower lip before pulling back and grinning. Steve licked his lips, his heart thudding hard against his chest. _Wow…just wow!_

 

”Been wanting to do that since the day of your birthday. Let it be known Bucky Barnes has no game.”

 

“It’s okay, I never had any game myself.” Steve’s cheeks were warm, along with the rest of his body.

 

“I find that very hard to believe. You had me at—Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?”

 

“Ha, ha! Was that it?” Steve broke out in a big grin.

 

“Yep, that sexy low voice of yours had me at full attention. I was a goner.” Bucky shook his head, giving a short laugh. And lowered his head to give him another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end...but also a beginning! I still have more I want to do with this pair in this AU so there will be another story in this series. Thanks for reading!! Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me a bit, having a mind of its own, but I did it!  
> Thanks so much for reading! Let me know if you like! I'd love to hear from you! I'm starmaki at tumblr.
> 
> p.s. I noticed when posting I left off the first 100 words from the start of chap. 6. I added them, but I hope it doesn't alter the fic for the ones that read it earlier. ^_^
> 
> [](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4355/36565527046_b79d48b9fa_o.jpg)Art by ninjasherlock  
> [](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4370/36473761891_72b636fb65_o.png)Art by ninjasherlock  
> [](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4372/36565539916_cbf57df933_o.png)Art by ninjasherlock
> 
> [](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4306/35708707820_db9fb1a074_o.jpg)Aesthetics: Caffè Americano

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Caffè Americano](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154577) by [Night (Night_Inscriber)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Inscriber/pseuds/Night)




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